


Harry Hardying Can't Fuck

by ThePlagueBeast



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, One Night Stands, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlagueBeast/pseuds/ThePlagueBeast
Summary: But Sandor Clegane sure can.---A terrible one night stand with Hardying sends Sansa to rant at her sister who offers up a solution in the form of a friend who's more than willing to help.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 246





	Harry Hardying Can't Fuck

**Author's Note:**

> This only exists because I had a dream about the first part and the text she sends Arya at the beginning would NOT leave my head.

He’d fallen asleep.

 _He’d fallen **asleep**_.

He’d spent _hours_ getting her all worked up and needy and then spent less than five minutes rutting and grunting and then he’d _fallen asleep_.

Stuck somewhere between gobsmacked and furious she found her clothes (and, in a fit of pique, pulled the condom from the garbage and threw it onto his bare chest), wrestled herself into her little-black-dress and fuck-me heels, pulled a pen from her clutch and scrawled ‘lose my number’ on his arm, and stalked with all the frustrated fury she could muster out of his upscale apartment (that was on his step-mother’s dime because he worked middle-management in an office).

She took a deep breath when she hit the street and decided that good clean city air wasn’t enough for her irritation levels, so she pulled a cigarette from her purse and fought with the lighter (and she should invest in a decent one, this was becoming too much of a habit) and took a deep drag and _exhaled_ feeling vastly calmer. There was something to be said for the psychosomatic effects of only smoking to destress as much as the effect the actual nicotine had.

Glancing up and down the street, quiet and dark, she pulled out her phone and let Lyft and Uber fight over who’d get to pick her up, and then (in another fit of pique) pulled up her sister’s contact and sent her a text.

_Sansa: Harry Hardying can’t fuck. Pass it on._

* * *

“At the end of the night it felt less like a Wine n Dine and more like Smash n Grab,” she griped, her lip curling as she stared at the glass of whiskey in her hand. “Get in, get what you want, get out.”

“Was it really that bad?” Arya raised a skeptical brow.

Sansa shot her a flat look. “I don’t think he’s ever heard of a clitoris, I’m not entirely sure he knows women _can_ orgasm, and I think I was more turned on by his dimples than his dick. But I know for a _fact_ that he passed right the fuck out the second he’d got the condom off, which was about two seconds after he came. Which was about three minutes after he’d started.”

Arya blinked at that outpouring for a few moments before taking the glass from Sansa’s hand, throwing it back, and holding it up for the bartender to get her another.

“So what I’m hearing,” she began as two fresh drinks were deposited in front of them, “is that you need a good fuck. Preferably tonight?”

Sansa’s head dropped into her hands, her fingers raking through her hair while a belly-deep groan reverberated from her. “ _Gods yes, please_ ,” she all but whined.

Arya drummed her fingertips on the bartop, brow scrunched in thought. “I might know a guy. Not your usual type-”

“My usual type is apparently _very_ selfish in bed, so,” she took a burning gulp of her whiskey, “fucking _go for it_.”

Her sister nodded, pulling out her phone and typing furiously. After a few minutes of silence between the two she grunted in satisfaction. “Alright, he’ll meet us here. Fair warning, his face is kinda fucked up so, y’know, make eye contact if you’re gonna look at it.”

“Uh, okay,” she let out a bewildered huff, sipping further at her drink. 

“Don’t worry. He’s got great reviews.” The grin on her face could _only_ be described as ‘shit eating’ (which was a turn of phrase that never made sense to her and she briefly considered googling the origins on her phone while she waited, but decided to roll her eyes and savor the burn of her drink instead).

* * *

He was probably the largest man she’d ever seen in person. No, he was _definitely_ the largest. And the most muscular. Massive. That was the only word she could properly supply to describe him. Absolutely massive.

 _Perfect_.

He strode over to where they were perched at the bar, exchanging a nod with Arya before his gaze settled on Sansa herself, and she could feel the shiver run down her spine at the sheer _presence_ of him.

“This,” Arya began, waving her hand towards him like she was a used car salesman, “Is my good friend Sandor ‘The Hound’ Clegane.”

Sansa shot her sister a quick look before turning back to the man- Sandor. “The Hound?” she questioned, tilting her head to the side.

A wicked look crossed his face as he nodded, “You’ll understand before the night’s over.”

“My sister basically booty called you for me, do you know anything about me?” she couldn’t help but to ask, since he was apparently a friend.

“Might be. Does it matter? From what I heard you’d gone prowling for a one nighter and got left high and dry.” He popped an elbow on the bar, smirking down at her while he spoke.

“High and dry,” she laughed, “No, angry and wet.”

Arya chose that moment to smack the counter and announce her egress, stating she’d not bother to wait up (and Sansa couldn’t really fault her, if she wasn’t the one horny and frustrated with a massive man dangled in front of her, she’d be appalled at the conversation taking place).

“So then,” he grinned, “your place or mine?”

“Considering I only take a man home after the third date, I guess it’ll be yours.”

* * *

_One-night-stand, take two_ , she mused to herself as they walked the few short blocks to Sandor’s apartment. He’d placed his arm around her shoulder as they left the bar (mostly to keep her from getting jostled by other patrons) and left it there as they started on their way outside. She decided she liked it, a bit proprietary perhaps but it brought him closer and she could feel the weight of him, the muscle mass, and feel his warmth, and catch his spicy scent without turning to sniff him like a creeper.

It was nice, she decided, just in time for him to pull away and unlock the secure front door to his building. He held it open for her and gestured for her to precede him up the stairs. Possibly to stare at her ass, possibly to make sure she didn’t fall on it with the combo of steps and heels.

His hand on her waist stopped her from continuing past the second landing, tucked her into his side while he opened the door to his unit. It was dark and smelled faintly of dog, but he flicked the hall switch and it was clean. _Spare and tidy_ , she decided, glancing about. The dog in question was napping in a kennel in the corner and she resisted the urge to gush, she was here for an orgasm, not a puppy (but maybe she could pet him after? At least then _one_ thing would have to have gone as expected, it’s very hard to be let down by a dog after all).

She tossed her clutch onto the coffee table and bit her lip, casting Sandor a quick glance. He caught her eye and she suddenly felt a _bit_ like prey. If she’d been set up by _anyone_ but Arya, she’d probably be more than a little scared right now. As it stood, she was nervous, but not anxious, and definitely not concerned for her safety.

So she took a step towards him, and then another, and another, until she was close enough to feel the heat coming off of him and had to tip her chin up to keep her eyes on his very pretty grey ones.

He slipped his hands around her waist, tugging her a bit closer, and she felt a little thrill at the fact that she still had her heels on and _still_ had to look _up_ to reach his lips and she so rarely got to tilt her head back and be kissed like a woman in a romance. “So,” he rumbled, and she could feel it pass from his chest into hers, “how d’you like it?”

“I’ve got no idea,” she admitted, a bit light-headed from the proximity of his mouth to hers.

“Really now? Pretty thing like you, never had a man actually try?” He seemed skeptical.

She shrugged as best she could. “Uhm, no? I don’t think so?” She trailed her fingertips up his arms, watching his muscles twitch under his shirt.

His fingers spread across her back, spanning her spine from tailbone to neck. “You’d know, trust me.” Fingertips danced along the back of her dress, both embracing and searching for the zipper, and when she caught on to that she bit her lip and grabbed one and moved it to her side where the zip tucked up under her arm. He toyed with it a moment and then moved his hand away, smirking at her confused look.

He stepped back, detangling their arms and held her gaze while he reached down to grab the hem of his shirt then peeled it slowly upwards. She bit her lip as his (hairy) _sculpted_ form was revealed, and yeah she’d gotten an inkling before of his muscles but _oh my_ was seeing different. She wondered how good _feeling_ would be, and then decided to find out and ran her palms from his waistband up and up and up over abdominals and pectorals and onto trapezius that made his shoulders look truly massive.

She could feel him flexing slightly to ensure she got the best possible introduction to his anatomy and smiled in appreciation. After a few moments of admiration, she tilted her head back, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and yanked his face down to _finally_ get his lips on hers.

* * *

In the bedroom and he’d lost everything but his boxer-briefs (that were doing _nothing_ for his modesty, for which she was thankful), but she was still wearing everything she’d walked in with.

Not to complain, he was an absolute _specimen_ of masculinity and she’d never gotten quite so turned on just touching a man’s body, yet here she was. Borderline needy. And he’d not tried to get her dress off her at all. 

He pressed her towards the bed until she sat down inelegantly, bouncing a bit and propping herself up on her palms. He kissed her once more, quick and almost chaste, before tilting her head to the side and diving in to nip and lick and nibble at her neck.

She gasped as his mouth moved down and down and down, past her collarbones and to her breasts, leaving wet spots on her dress as he kept going and going, down her stomach and hip bones and thighs until he reached the bottom hem and then started working his way back _up and under_ , almost burrowing his way between her thighs.

There was a moment where she thought to shove him off, to keep him ( _anyone_ ) from being _that_ intimately acquainted with her body. But it passed as soon as it registered because while she wasn’t certain she liked the idea of someone being _that close_ she was certain she liked the reality of his lips and teeth and tongue on her inner thighs and if _that_ part felt _that good_ then how good was the part that was definitely coming next going to feel?

* * *

It was fantastic.

Weird as all seven hells, but fantastic, and her hips would not stop rolling into his tongue as long as he kept it there, and he seemed willing to keep it there as long as she kept rolling her hips, and it was a strange almost-hell (but definitely heaven) where it was all _too much_ but also _too good_ and she never wanted it to stop until-

She finally pulled herself backwards, further onto the bed, and gasped down at his (very smug) face, “Get the fuck up here.”

And then she was fumbling for her zip (and his hand knocked her shaky one away and helped peel her dress off) and then his boxers were gone and at _some_ point while she’d been distracted he’d pulled out a condom which was perfect because she wanted _something_ inside her before she had another ( _another_ , she thought with a slightly hysterical edge) orgasm tonight.

“Want me on top then?” he asked, climbing above her so he could bend over and catch her lips with his own, not waiting for an answer as he nibbled and licked into her mouth and she could taste herself on him and that _really shouldn’t turn her on so much_ she didn’t think. Should it? Fuck it, it did and that was that.

The best answer she could give was instinctual, wrapping her legs around his torso and all but yanking his body towards hers. She could feel him chuckle into her mouth same as she felt his cock hot against her inner thigh.

* * *

A man, who didn’t just hammer away for a couple minutes and call it all good, a _proper_ man was an absolute godsend.

It took a bit of wriggling on both their parts before he was fully seated and the sensation of being stretched was so unlike she was used to. Not because of a particular size difference but rather, because he wasn’t immediately away again and done before she could adjust.

And just getting the chance to rock her hips against his stationary ones while she clenched (intentionally) to _feel_ everywhere he hit inside was better than the last couple of partners she’d had put together.

(Which was a little sad when she looked back on it, because at the moment Sandor was effectively a warm dildo while she writhed underneath him, and he was still a better fuck than Hardying.)

It’s only when she lets out a breathy, “Gods, move, _please_ ,” that he starts rolling his own hips and the slick slide and friction and he’s rubbing all those wonderful places inside and without any conscious movement her hand is down between her legs and she’s circling circling _circling_ -

And his mouth is drifting between her neck and her lips and they’re not really kissing but there’s contact and it’s warm and wet and _good_ and they’re both panting and her free hand keeps knocking her hair out of her eyes because it keeps getting caught in the sweat across her face but she wants to _see him_ -

Between her constant shifting hips making sure she’s getting the _absolute best angle_ and her well-practiced motions on her clit and the sheer overpowering presence of a man that genuinely turns her on, it’s _shockingly_ short work before she’s thrown into another (better, better, _best_ ) orgasm and he’s still moving and she thinks maybe he’s cursed into her shoulder because she’s locked up, knees tight to his hips and ankles crossing his thighs and all he can do is thrust shallowly-

Until he stops with a long, low groan that sends aftershocks tingling down from where it reverberates against her neck.

* * *

_Sansa: Sandor Clegane can fuck._

_Arya: Pass it on? ;)_

_Sansa: Not that it’s anyone else’s business anymore ;)_

* * *

She threw her phone back into her purse (she’d only meant to let Arya know all was well but) and strides back into the bedroom, locks her eyes on the very relaxed (very awake) man in the bed. She bites her lip and crawls up from the foot of the bed, straddling his thighs as she goes.

“So, what’s a girl gotta do to take you off the market?” she asked with a cheeky grin that broadens into something more genuine when he barked out a surprised laugh.

“Just ask,” he said, wrapping his hands around her waist (and if that doesn’t make her feel delightfully tiny) and tugging her closer.

“Sandor Clegane, will you be my boyfriend?”

“Sure.”

There’s not much talking after that (she did get to pet the dog before she left in the morning, though).

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write smut but this was always going to have it and honestly IDK how good any of this is but I've officially exorcised this story like a demon from my brain and ejected it into the ether. So. This exists and now we all have to deal with that.


End file.
